Suraya binti Jaafar

Across the street from the bus station, I saw a man reading a newspaper with the headline cover; “Suraya Bukan Namanya”*. If I had the chance, I would have snatched the paper out of his hands and tear it apart but the voice in my head told me that I could upset her if I showed my anger in public. I could only ball my fist.

The bus arrived like a can of sardines on wheels as the young workers flooded out of the bus, rushing to their work places. The musty smell of the air of Kuala Lumpur had temporarily been replaced in my nose by the overwhelming smell of perfumes from the workers that passed by me.

Once the crowd was clear, I got on the bus with six other passengers and we silently sat through the ride as the bus travels deep within the old streets of KL to avoid the morning traffic.

Usually I am never out and about on a Monday morning – I am film director, I show up when I have films to direct. But on this particular day, I decided that after two weeks of desolation, I would go back to the place I once called home, hoping that the nostalgia would embrace me and pull me out of my loneliness.

Anxiety suddenly washed over me when I wanted to fish out a picture from my wallet but noticed that it wasn’t there. Patting around my body, I finally found the photo in an inner pocket of my jacket – it was an old photo of my wife that I took on our first date.

My wife passed away two weeks ago, after 35 years of marriage.

Her name was Suraya, Suraya binti Jaafar. A woman who hailed from a village in Seremban. Suraya was my senior in my Mass Communication diploma programme at UiTM and boy, I was extremely annoyed by her.

Suraya was one of those shy art kids who did not realize they are talented and grew up to produce fantastic masterpieces – it was no lie that I was annoyed because I was simple jealous of her artistic capability. During our university days, she looked down on the films she had made for her assignments, fearing that she wouldn’t be a successful filmmaker and lose her dreams. 10 years after graduating and she screened her first independent film, Sayang, in 23 different countries, a first for an Asian female director but most importantly, a first for a Malaysian film director.

Suraya did not just became the best film director the nation had been gifted. Suraya became a revolution, the spark that ignited the liberal Malays’ fireworks. Of course, Suraya’s work and career did not sit well with the conservatives.

On the night of the premier for one of her films, ‘Binti’*, Jakim had busted the theater the movie was screened at and threatened to arrest her on the premise that the film included LGBT themes that did not meet the required “rules” set by our censorship board and Suraya came home crying that night with overwhelming fear. This was on our second year of dating and our 14th year of knowing each other.

This was also the night Suraya came out to me as a transgender woman.

I will be honest on the fact that I was surprised and I had questions for everything. Firstly, she was like your typical Malay kampung* girl who never missed her prayers and religiously went to the nearest mosque every Wednesday to attend a mengaji* session. It made sense to me when she said that the reason why she never wore the tudung was because she felt as though she was sinning a lot ever since she told me the truth.

And people say the straight guy from the city knows it all – she was the one who convinced to pray five times a day and made me stop drinking alcohol.

I remember that night when she gave me an ultimatum; stay and suffer under the bigotry from our own people or leave her for the sake of my safety. 32-year-old-me didn’t care what was in her pants, as long as she was this talented and beautiful girl who loved hugging me whenever she had the chance - who made fun of my early baldness. I still never cared about what she was before I met her. Suraya was my true love, my only.

The bus finally arrived at the last station and I traced my old memories through the smelly alleyways that led to my old house that I first bought when I married my late-wife.

A familiar feeling surrounded me – I didn’t felt alone anymore, no more curious eyes peeking at me, no more bashing from strangers.

28 films, 16 commercials, and countless of international screenings, as well as award nominations, plus 55 years of her living and no one ever suspected a thing. They just saw Suraya as the rebellious liberal trying to make a change.

But one year of cancer and a funeral that was broadcasted on national television, where the Imam said “Sulaiman bin Jaafar” instead of Suraya and the whole country turns against you.

“Engkau bodoh sangat, pergi kahwin bapok kenapa?!”*, said the Mak Cik selling goreng pisang near my house when I passed by her two days after my wife’s death.

Angry letters filled my mailbox by Malay people – some of whom have never even watched her films but what shocked me the most were the fact that some of these invisible mobs admitted that they were of liberal thinkers, though were disgusted that they supported films made by a “tranny”.

The media started spreading lies, they made her life sound miserable and that I was her slave. If only I could tell the truth, but it was too much pain.

Your ustaz* would say that sinners live terrible lives – crackheads and gays live on the brink of death with everyone hating on them. “Sinners”, will never live comfortably and obtain true happiness.

But Suraya was a transwoman who was happily married. She had a successful career, recognized internationally. She made a name for herself. Her family, who hailed from rural upbringings, loved her dearly and saw her as the perfect daughter. Suraya did not do drugs, she was not a prostitute, she did not force me to marry her, but why did the media said all of this? Why tell lies?

In this old house of ours, if the media saw it, if everybody heard our story – they could see that Suraya was the “ideal” Malay girl.

Meanings*

Suraya Bukan Namanya – In English, “Suraya is not her name”, hinting to an article written about Suraya’s funeral and her being a transwoman

Binti – It means “daughter of” in Arabic languages. Bin is the male counterpart (Son of). Also used in Muslim names where children are consider daughters or sons of their fathers. And I wanted to hint that the film was about a Muslim transwoman.

Kampung – Village

Mengaji – Quran Reading

Engkau bodoh sangat, pergi kahwin bapok kenapa?! – In English, “And you were so stupid, why did you marry a tranny?!” Bapok is slur against transwoman, like the Malay version of the slur, Tranny.

Ustaz – Male Islamic religious teacher

Disclaimer: I am well aware that I've included slurs that are used against transpeople. Please by all means, if you are a transperson and if you feel that it's not write for me to include these slurs in my writing, please inform me by emailing writethingsgroup@gmail.com and I will immediately change it. I've included them only for the purpose of showing the discrimination transpeople suffer not just in Malaysia but in general. But if you want me to remove them, I understand and I will edit the story. I am open to being taught a couple things about transpeople, so if I can get feedbacks on alternatives or safer ways, that would be highly appreciated. As a fellow queer person, I am here for all of you.